


Summer Rain

by exomostlyhuman



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Aliens, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 09:36:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10739016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exomostlyhuman/pseuds/exomostlyhuman
Summary: Kim Jongin finds a distraction in the rain–Prince Do from El Dorado.





	Summer Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round 1 of Exo_mostlyhuman (prompt #9) by [oxygenlove](http://oxygenlove.livejournal.com/profile)
> 
> Author notes: This is an alien!au with a mixture of mama!au and celebrity!au. I apologize in advance for my tenses and please be mindful of the plot holes! Thanks to my betas J, J2 and A,for helping me and cheering me on. Also thanks to the lovely mod of the fest, for being so patient with me even though I would have strangled myself if I were her. THANK YOU and please enjoy

**El Dorado; Winter 32BX**

 

“Should we stop for the night, Your Highness?”Milo asks, the trees around them growing darker as they ride. The Light has dimmed, indicating the night is upon them. “We will not make it before the Light is completely extinguished. Besides, the hulos need to rest for tomorrow’s longer journey.”

“Is that so?” Prince Do looks to the sky, the Light flickering faintly above them. In the palace, Lord Baekhyun must be getting ready for the night. “What do you think, Kale? Do you think Milo is correct?”

Kale looks from his hulo at the back, the brown animal’s feet digging into the white snow. He looks at Milo, then at the prince, clearly unhappy having been put in the middle of another possible argument.

“I think Milo is right, Your Highness,” he says carefully, not wanting to upset the prince. It’s his first time riding with a royal, after all. He doesn’t want it to be his last. “It is indeed too late to make it to the Tree today for your Blessing. However, we might be able to cover a mile more before we settle for the night.”

Prince Do smiles sweetly at Kale, making the younger look down to his hands, a bashful tint to his cheeks. But Milo knows better, the hard glint of triumph in the prince’s eyes is anything but sweet. Milo has been counting on this.

“Very well, Kale, I trust your decision,” the prince says as he steers his hulo back on track, the big black animal’s feet navigating the thick snow gracefully as Milo and Kale’s own brown ones struggle to keep up, tired from riding for days.

Milo looks at Kale to his side; a smug smile adorning the younger’s face, clearly pleased, thinking Prince Do values his opinion. _Ah, sweet naive child_ , Milo thinks to himself as he tightens his scarf around his neck, the wool warm on his cold skin.

Milo spent most of his life serving in the palace. As such, he has grown accustomed to the royal family’s eccentricities, quirks and all. At first, Milo has been taken with the prince, as is everyone around the young royal tends to be. Quiet but friendly, a certain charm in the way he carries and presents himself, the prince has the natural ability to make others want to please him, the mark of a born ruler. But soon enough, spending time in the palace and in close proximity to the royal family has enabled Milo to see past the illusion. Prince Do never shouts or demands anything but he knows how to make others give him what he wants. There’s an undeniable power underneath the sweet smile, every seemingly innocent move calculated with precision that Milo is more careful with him than with the other royals. He corners you but never strikes. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Until circumstances get to you and he eventually gets what he wants. This is how Prince Do wins his victories. Silent and unnerving. Milo can handle straightforward but not mind games and Prince Do certainly plays a lot of them.

Milo knows he’s harsh on the young royal. With the King in ill health, the prince must take to the throne soon. Prince Do’s mind games might prove to be useful if he becomes King.

Up ahead, Milo sees the prince has stopped his hulo, his back rigid as he looks down the drop before the bridge. Even the black animal is as still as a statue, its tail limp and unmoving. Milo immediately knows that something is wrong. Kale senses it too, as he slows down and looks apprehensively at the older, his mouth set to a thin line. Overhead, a mass of dark clouds have began to gather.

Milo feels it then, the sudden shift in the air. It was cold when they started their journey, the roads covered with years’ worth of thick snow. After riding for days deeper and deeper towards the Tree, the temperature has continued to drop. But this is different. This isn’t simple winter cold. It’s icy, chilling cold that almost feels like heat, seeping deep into Milo’s bones.

“Is it them?” Kale whispers beside him.

Masters Xiumin and Chen. It can only be them.

Milo nods, almost afraid to reach the prince. The stories are plenty, told around dimly lit tables in pubs with hushed voices, the rogue Creators who want to steal the throne from the royal family, lying in wait, plotting for the right time. They have been silent for years, almost deemed a legend, but it is the perfect time now. The King is dying; the next in line is riding to get the Tree’s Blessing before he can take the throne. There are only two riders with the crown prince, old Keeper Milo and young apprentice Kale, easy guards to the only heir. The rogues will make easy work of them if they get in the way.

In the distance, Prince Do remains at the same spot, impossibly still, like he’s frozen. Milo’s heart beats in staggered breaths.

Milo and Kale are a good distance from the drop but even so, they hear the rumble of an unseen force and can only watch as a strong gust of wind whips the prince from his ride, the black hulo tumbling down the ridge. They hear its broken howl, thud after thud of its body tumbling down the bank, then silence. Milo doesn’t want to think of what becomes of the animal, instead, he kicks his own brown hulo, urging it to a run, Kale right behind him.

The nearer they get, the colder it becomes, strong gusts of wind blowing against them, making it harder to reach the bridge. Milo shivers right down to his boots, his thick cloak flapping uselessly behind him.

“Sehun is with them,” Kale shouts over the deafening wind. Milo doesn’t need to be told. He has seen the force that lifted Prince Do several feet into the air only to be swung and dropped out of sight. That isn’t any simple wind. That is Sehun. Master Sehun is with them.

A flash of lightning slices through the sky, illuminating the road up ahead, followed by an ear-splitting cry of pain — the prince. Milo kicks his hulo again but the push is too strong, the animals struggle to move against the gusts of wind blown at them.

Another flash and then a booming sound. Lightning and now thunder. Milo can barely see where they are heading, a flurry of snow flying around them, blocking their line of sight. But Milo can tell they are near, the road has begun to slope down and the screams… the screams are louder now.

The prince is clever but Milo has never seen him exhibit any extraordinary ability. No one in the palace knows what he can do. These rogues don’t know either. That’s why they brought Master Xiumin. And now they have the prince, frozen and at their mercy.

Kale reaches the drop first as Milo struggles to steer his hulo straight, the brown animal as tired and as old as its rider.

Ahead, Kale moves fast despite the strong wind, his younger limbs lithe and agile. He runs down the drop and out of sight before Milo can reach the bridge.

It’s a few moments after that Milo finally dismounts from his hulo. He’s shaking, knees weak as he runs through the thick snow, boots sinking and disappearing with each step he takes. He tries to move faster, tries to get to the bank as fast as he can. Milo has served in the palace for many years. His family has served under many Kings. Milo needs to see, needs to know if Prince Do will be his next King. Milo moves as fast as his legs will carry him.

When Milo finally reaches the bank, the first thing he sees is blood.

“He disappeared,” Kale says, eyes looking at the red spot tinting the white snow.

Milo tries to catch his breath, bent over his knees, heaving. _Blood_. Milo fights the smile threatening to spill on his lips.

“Where is the prince?”

“He disappeared,” Kale repeats.

Milo straightens. Disappeared? It’s cold but gone is the biting chill that seeped through his clothes mere moments ago. No strong gusts of wind either. No sign of the three rogue Creators. It’s just him and Kale and a bright red spot of blood on the snow.

“With the rogues? Did the three take him? Where - ”

“No. No. No,” Kale is shaking his head, as if in a daze. Milo feels dizzy. “No, Milo. Xiumin was here freezing him after each lightning and Chen was striking him with bolt after bolt and Sehun was blowing wind against us to keep us from coming but then- then he - ”

“Then the prince disappeared?”

“Ye- no! Well, yes. But there was a moment, when Xiumin failed to freeze him for a fraction of a second after Chen’s hit and the prince just- he looked at Xiumin, Milo. The prince looked at Xiumin and Xiumin disintegrated like sand on the snow,” Kale speaks in an almost whisper. “And then he disappeared.”

Alright.

Alright.

Milo thinks to himself, _alright._

The plan didn’t work. Milo feels panic rise to his throat. Lord Chanyeol will not be pleased.

But disappeared? The prince?

Teleportation. Is that it? Is that what the prince can do? But what about Master Xiumin? Disintegrated like sand?

Milo circles the area, feet careful with each step. He approaches the red spot on the snow.

“The prince’s blood?” Milo asks Kale, voice wavering. He hasn’t realized he’s still shaking.

“Yes,” Kale answers softly, still looking dazed. Prince Do is badly injured then. Not all hope is lost. Maybe, Lord Chanyeol will not have his head as Milo originally feared.

“And the rogue Xiumin? ”

“Here,” Kale points. “Up here. The three rogues were standing up here. ”

Milo walks to where Kale is standing, a fair distance from the red. There, near his feet, barely noticeable against the white snow, is a mound of what can only be compared to sand.

“Like sand,” Milo says. He crouches, scooping a handful of the coarse grains into his palm. The crystal sand is cold to the touch. Master Xiumin. “Like sand on snow, indeed. And the prince did this?” Kale nods.

“He looked at him, Milo. He merely looked at him and the next thing I know, Xiumin was no more,” Kale shivers, but not from the cold. “It’s the first time I saw the prince look so… look like he was… I was a little…”

Kale doesn’t finish his sentence but Milo knows what he was going to say. _Afraid_. Kale was afraid. There are sides to the prince that no one sees unless they look. And often times people refuse to see because it’s easier to accept the surface than what lies beneath. Kale saw a glimpse before the prince disappeared and what he saw frightened him.

“What about Maste - ,” Milo catches himself. “The other rogues? What about the other rogues? Sehun and Chen?”

“They fled,” Kale tells him, eyes blinking the glaze away. “With no one to freeze him, the prince just lay there, bleeding. I could see the red seeping through the snow around him. I wanted to run to him but I was rooted to the spot. I should have gone to the prince, Milo. I should have gone to help the prince but I didn’t.”

“Kale - ”

“But I couldn’t move, you have to understand,” there is an almost silent plea to Kale’s voice. “Sehun and Chen were still there. The two rogues were standing, surprised as I was. I was afraid they would notice me. I dare not move lest they turn on me. I’m a coward, I know, and I apologize, Milo. I apologize. Will the King ever forgive me? Will he let me live?”

The silent plea has turned Kale’s voice a pitch higher. Milo can see the irises of his eyes shaking as if cold from the snow. _Young and naive_ , Milo thinks to himself. _Oh to be young and naive._

“Kale, it isn’t your fault -”

“Then the prince disappeared. One moment he was there, bleeding and shaking on the cold snow, the next moment he was gone. Milo, I saw it with my own eyes. He disappeared into thin air. Gone. Sehun and Chen were there, they saw. They were equally as stunned, I am sure. The wind picked up, I could hear the rumble of thunder above. They were surprised as I was. They didn’t know. I didn’t too. Did you, Milo? Did you know of the prince’s abilities?”

“I didn’t,” Milo replies, the regret in his voice he didn’t have to fake.

“I see. No one knows then. Not the rogues, not even you, the Keeper.”

“But they are unharmed? Sehun and Chen?”

“I didn’t see,” Kale frowns, slight confusion on his face. “A strong gust of wind blew all of a sudden, I couldn’t see, and when the snow has settled, they were gone, the wind and dark clouds with them.”

“Very well,” Milo has calmed his heart down. The little stutters barely noticeable now that he knows the other Masters are safe. But Master Xiumin… such unfortunate news. Lord Chanyeol will certainly not be pleased.

“Where do you think he is then, the prince?” Kale asks.

Milo looks around, adjusts the soles of his feet and balances on his calves. He stretches his right arm and flattens his palm on the ground, the snow a strange mixture of warm-cold to the touch. He closes his eyes, inhales and concentrates.

Silence.

Milo’s senses move like a panther on a hunt, fast and with purpose. The tendrils of his mind move and crawl and seek across the snow with twists and turns, across and under. Milo tries to reach as far as he can, until the edges of the Kingdom blurs his vision. He can’t move farther.  
No sign of the prince.

“I can’t sense him in the Kingdom,” Milo says, trying to even out his tone to keep the happiness out of his voice.

“Not in the Kingdom?” Kale’s voice is a mixture of confused and dread. Milo does not share the sentiment. He is relieved that the prince is nowhere near. The Lord of Fire has some time to plan his next move. 

“Not in the Kingdom,” Milo confirms as he gets to his feet. The shaking in his knees has subsided but his hands still move in spasms. He clenches them into fists. The prince is injured and gone, he tells himself. It will be a while before he is fully recovered. It isn’t all in vain. “I don’t know where the prince is.”

Kale looks at him, then at the red blood spilled on the white snow, and finally, at the mound of sand next to his feet. “The prince is gone.”

“Yes, Kale. He is.”

 _Hopefully_ , Milo adds in his head.

Prince Do Kyungsoo, the heir to the throne, is gone, disappeared into thin air on his way to the Tree of Life. But before he went, he reduced a powerful rogue Creator to dust-like sand. Dead. Milo will deliver the news to the palace when he gets back. Lord of Fire Chanyeol will not be happy to hear his little plan has failed.

But how did the prince disappear into thin air? And how did he disintegrate Master Xiumin into sand?

Just what _can_ the prince do? And where is he now?

Milo wonders as Kale loosens his cloak around his shoulders, a soft breeze blowing around them, almost warm. The detail almost escapes Milo if not for Kale’s eyes, wide in surprise.

“The wind…” Kale murmurs in wonder the same moment Milo realizes, dread starting to fill his old old heart. _No no no._

“Warm wind,” Milo whispers, remembering the mound of crystal sand on the snow, cold and very very dead. With Master Xiumin gone, winter is finally at its end. What little hope Milo had of being spared the wrath of the Lord of Fire is now gone. “The first in years.”

“My first spring,” Kale smiles at him, eyes shining with excitement, seemingly having forgotten his worries moments ago. “Milo, my first spring!”

Milo tries his hardest to smile at Kale, to share the happiness the younger feels, but the dread has consumed him now, Milo’s heart at an almost standstill. _My last spring_. Milo knows. He knows his imminent death will not be swift. It will hurt, and he will burn, slowly.

They make their way back to their hulos, Kale’s continuous gleeful chatter a constant background sound to fill the silence while Milo thinks of his children, soon to be orphaned, and his grandchildren, yet to be born. He walks with a heavy heart.

Above, the Light is fully extinguished, the numerous stars twinkling faintly serve as their guide in the dark. In the palace, Lord of Light Baekhyun has finally gone to sleep.

 

**_2_ **  
**Earth; Summer 2016**

It’s raining.

The soft green of the trees outside calms Jongin despite the stress hanging over him like a blanket, making his tired limbs slack against his side, the slope of his back hunched over the table as he looks out the window, watching the world get drenched in the early summer rain.

 _Jang-ma_ is probably Jongin’s most hated part of the year, when the days alternate between cold showers and stifling summer heat. He prefers the certainty of August, the scorching sun toasting the leaves to almost brown. It’s not pleasant. The second half of summer never is, but Jongin likes it better than the first half. He likes knowing better than second guessing.

“I guess today is a rainy day. And tomorrow might be another one. And the next after that might be sunny but who knows?”

The empty cabin doesn’t answer, silent save for the pitter patter of the rain on the wooden roof. Jongin sighs. He usually likes the quiet but he feels restless today. Something feels different. Something feels off.

“I hate July.”

Jongin stands up to fetch himself a glass of orange juice and fix himself a cup of ramyun. He enjoys the small pockets of normalcy the simple actions give him, no screaming PDs and no overbearing coordis and stylists hovering over him like flies, waiting and watching his every move.

His phone vibrates on the table just as he sets his lunch down; the device’s buzzing has his orange juice moving an inch on the wooden surface. He ought to buy a table mat.

“It better be important,” Jongin answers, chopsticks stirring the slice of processed cheese into the ramyun broth.

_“It is. You might need to come up here next week.”_

“Why? I’m done shooting everything,”

_“They want you to shoot an additional scene -”_

“It’s my break! We agreed. No schedules until winter.”

_“Yes, yes, I know. But they insisted on adding this whole sequence and they need you for it.”_

“But hyung, I haven’t had a break since I shot Choco Bank. You ”

_“I know. I’m your manager, trust me. I tried to tell them you’re away but they really just need to shoot this one scene -”_

“How long will it take?” Jongin sighs, resigned. He can’t argue if his manager already tried. He might be one of Korea’s Darling Actors Under 30, but that doesn’t mean he can reject PDs’ offers or say no to powerful higher ups. He’s not in that position just yet. And perhaps, he never will.

_“If you would just accept Mr. Jung’s offer ”_

“No. We already talked about this. I’m not getting myself into those kinds of contracts. Besides, I’m already 25! Don’t they like their boys younger?”

_“You know why they always ask for you ”_

“Right. Funny they never cared when I was starting out. The answer’s still no. I’m coming up to Seoul next week. End of problem,” Jongin stirs the noodles of his ramyun, now soggy and warm.

_“I’m really sorry, kid. I tried. I’ll call you when you need to come.”_

“Do I really have to?” Jongin tries, one last time. He only got here yesterday. He hasn’t even unpacked all of his clothes yet.

_“You know you have to. It’s only for just a few days. 4 days, tops.”_

“Can’t they just CG me in or something?”

_“Ha. Ha. Ha. This is why management doesn’t send you on variety shows.”_

“You just don’t know how to appreciate my A+ quality sense of humor.”

Jongin can practically see his manager rolling his eyes all the way from Seoul.

_“Right. Enjoying the mountains so far, kiddo?”_

“They’re very green,” Jongin tries the noodles, almost cold and less than firm. It doesn’t taste half as bad as he thought it would.

_“Liking it better than Seoul?”_

Jongin looks around the small cabin: the old bed with the quilted mattress in the corner, the first bed he has slept on properly after years of sleeping in his van in between schedules; the bookshelf filled with his favourite books he hauled from his apartment, sure to keep him occupied for weeks; the small stereo near the fireplace and the fridge stocked with food he doesn’t know how to cook, powered by the low hum of a generator outside; and finally, the big window facing the side of the mountain, a view of nothing but trees for miles and miles ahead, the heavy downpour drenching everything in hues of green and gray. The picture is pretty but Jongin feels weirdly empty.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell yet,” Jongin answers. He can’t shake the gnawing feeling he has in his chest. It’s been there since morning, bothering him throughout the day. The cabin is warm, the sparse decoration and orange glow from the overhead light casts a homey glean on each surface but something is missing. Jongin can’t put his finger on it, like an itch he wants to scratch but he can’t quite reach.

“Ask me again next time you call. I might have an answer by then.”

_“So you hate it there. I thought you said you wanted some peace and quiet?”_

“It’s _too_ peaceful and _too_ quiet.”

Jongin stands up as his manager laughs into his ear. Jongin smiles into the phone, moving towards the large window overlooking the forest outside, the rain unrelenting with its downpour over the dark green of the trees. It really is quiet, eerily so. Jongin feels so alone, the itch in his gut not going away.

A flash of lightning slices through the gray, followed belatedly by the loud boom and clap of thunder.

Jongin really really hates _jang-ma._

“Hey, look, hyung. I think I have to go. I haven’t finished unpacking yet and-”

_“Yeah yeah okay. Remember to -”_

“Yes, remember to always close the door at night. Don’t wander too far from the trail, never go fishing past sundown or-”

Jongin sees it.

He blinks.

_“-Or? Jongin? Or?”_

Jongin doesn’t answer, eyes fixed on the spot to the left of his window’s view.

_“Kid?”_

“Hyung?”

_“Hey, kid. What’s wrong? Everything alright-”_

“When you said there are no cabins around here other than this one, how serious were you?”

_“Very. The next living soul should be miles away from you. The owner of the cabin rented it to us for such a high price because of the privacy, you know that. You picked it for that very reason. Well, that and the view but- wait. Jongin. Why are you asking? Did you see someone?”_

It was a quick flash of black, nothing more. It could have been a shadow, even. But Jongin saw it.

_“Kid?”_

“Yeah. I- I think I saw someone.”

 

KYUNGSOO feels his head pounding, loud and throbbing, the smell of leaves heavy against his nose. He tries to move his arm, stiff and numb from Xiumin’s freez-

Xiumin.

Kyungsoo’s eyes shoot open, irises darting left and right in slight panic. He sees no one. Instead, he sees trees, a roof of green above him.

Did he make it?

He attempts to sit up, body twisting painfully, but his arms fail him, too weak to move. He feels sore all over, like a thousand hulos has trampled all over his body, hooves heavy on his flesh. There’s a stinging pain on his right arm, piercing and throbbing. He briefly remembers being smashed on the ground by Sehun’s wind, hitting a jagged rock on his way down. The bleeding would have stopped by now, and it would heal quickly, but the stinging is still there, and it hurts. It hurts very much.

He looks around him, sees no sign of the rogues, nothing but greens of leaves all around. He’s alone. He lays there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in time with his head.

Think, Kyungsoo. Think.

He’s on the ground. Soft. The ground is soft with moss and decaying leaves. Overhead, the thick canopy of tree leaves block the rain, but it doesn’t block the sound. Kyungsoo hears the rain falling, hitting the leaves and branches feet above him, water droplets finding their way below through cracks in between. One lands on his forehead, trickling down to the corner of his left eye.

The water is warm.

It’s winter in El Dorado.

Did he make it?

The farthest he has traveled is from his chambers in the West Wing to the peak of Mt. Captka, the long distance exhausting him every time.

Right now, Kyungsoo feels beyond exhausted. His whole body aches but his limbs are numb. He tries to clench and unclench his fingers, trying to get the blood flowing. Xiumin’s freezes were painful, more painful than Chen’s bolts.

The corner of Kyungsoo’s lips tug into a smile as he thinks of the help the rogue has unknowingly given him. If it were not for Chen, Kyungsoo would have died on the second freeze, the numbing cold a burning fire that seared through his flesh. There was no pain quite like it, a lulling dull that presses hot white heat on his skin, drowning him like a blanket of flames. But Chen kept him awake, each hit jolting his senses, charging him. He has lain as still as he could, gathering enough strength, until he could feel the familiar power buzzing in his ears, louder than Sehun’s wind.

All he wanted was to get as far away from the numbing cold as he can. He thought of warmth, comforting and gentle warmth. He thought of trees, mountains of greens as far as his eyes can see. He thought of rain, a memory from his childhood. He wasn’t going to let himself die. He thought of the books he’s read, of Earth — a place of warmth, trees and rain.

Did he make it?

He cranes his neck, trying to look around, but the action requires strength he does not have. He settles for gazing at the tall trees that surround him, most of them he does not recognize. Mt. Captcka has very few types of trees, the base almost bare now. Kyungsoo has all of them memorized: adaleids, leaves like tiny specks of dust with trunks a maze of branches and roots above ground; mithrims, hanging leaves like curtains that hide their white trunks; clusters of gribours, population dense and plentiful until of late, now they only cover the lower half of the mountain, house to a few living animals that has survived the two decade-long winter; and tall tall weirls, their leaves spanning 3 feet across and 5 feet wide, found at the very peak, where Kyungsoo spends his afternoons, thinking. Kyungsoo sees none of them here. He sees unknown trees, towering over him. But they seem healthy and plenty. Kyungsoo is envious.

A bird flies above him, the flap of its wings foreign to his ears. Everything around him is unfamiliar and new. Kyungsoo closes his eyes, concentrating on the sounds he could hear around him, blocking noise to listen to his surroundings. There is a stream nearby, a stone’s throw away. He could hear insects, alive and well, their cacophony of choruses indistinguishable to his ears. No sound of larger animals. Above, the rain continues its steady downpour, the rhythm much like a lullaby.

He’s safe for now.

Kyungsoo feels the fatigue crawl over him like a blanket, the shock of having had escaped has worn off with no sign of any immediate danger nearby. The ground is soft, almost comfortable. The stub of wood digging into his side barely noticeable now. He feels his tired limbs relax. 

Trees and rain, he has found them. Kyungsoo smiles as he lets sleep consume him, a droplet of rain dripping on his forehead every now and then.

 

JONGIN is not, by any means, a coward. His hands are shaking because of the cold. Nevermind that it’s summer, the rain a light drizzle on his shoulders. The air is colder up here in the mountains, Jongin reasons. Yes, that’s it. He isn’t scare-

_Snap!_

“Who’s there?!”

_Snap snap snap!_

“Who the fuc-”

Jongin turns around, flattening his back against the trunk of a nearby tree. There is nothing, the space behind him empty. He breathes a sigh of relief.

“Okay, maybe a little afraid,” he half-laughs in admittance to the open air. He looks closer, stepping towards the sound. If he can’t see it, it must be some small animal, at most. He walks carefully, trying his best not to make a sound, but it’s impossible. Each step he takes crunches dead leaves littering the ground, some breaking a few twigs as well. The rainfall has helped but not by much, as the canopy above barely let the rain in. And so he goes slowly, the anxiousness he has been feeling since morning coming back in full force.

_Snap!_

Jongin stops. There it is again.

_Snap snap snap!_

Jongin crouches, and continues on, approaching the sound with apprehension, his arms held away to balance himself. More curious now than afraid. What could it be?

What Jongin saw from his window was a mass of black. A body. Or so he thinks. But what else could it be other than one? It fell from the branches of a tree, falling through leaves and wood. He could almost imagine the heavy crash it must have suffered. If it was a body, it would be dead. Jongin shivers.

Frankly, he thought it was absurd. Why would someone be up on a tree? And who? A sasaeng that got ahold of his whereabouts? Not the first time it would have happened, like that time he went on vacation in Japan and he got followed by Chinese fans in taxis. It was a nightmare. He ended up cutting the trip short, going back to Seoul and getting scolded by management for his troubles. Bribing someone or another to know where he is and following him up here in the mountains doesn’t sound too ridiculous, no. But then the trees here are too tall to be climbed by hand and sasaengs aren’t the most athletic stalkers he know of. The athletic ones are armed with camera lenses a foot long, employed and paid to take pictures of him and his colleagues. Who could it be this time? Dispatch? Top Star News? But surely, they wouldn’t have climbed a tree just to take pictures of him in a cabin? What are they hoping to find? A secret lover? Ha! Jongin is smarter than that.

_Snap!_

Jongin stills again.

_Snap snap snap!_

He is definitely closer now. The sound is clearer, nearer. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, sweat gathering at his brows. The rain has stopped now, or perhaps, the light drizzle is not enough to make it through the thick mass of leaves above. He steps around a trunk carefully, making his way through a clump of trees as he comes upon what’s making the sound.

It’s a weasel.

On the foot of a tree trunk, the coat of the weasel looks a dirty brown. It’s holding something black, limp in it’s small clawed fingers. Its lunch or dinner, perhaps.

Jongin lets out a gentle laugh of relief, the sound startling the small animal as it looks at him, it’s tiny beady eyes regarding him with curiosity. Jongin can’t help but laugh again, then a little louder still, the sound ringing through the forest, bouncing around the tree trunks. The weasel scampers away at this, leaving him alone. 

He feels a little stupid. Getting scared of a weasel on a hunt, really? He shakes his head in amusement, heartbeat starting to return to normal.

“Okay, that’s enough adventure for today, Kim Jongin. Let’s head back and make ourselves a delicious cup of ramyun for dinner, the same kind you ate for breakfast and lunch. Yum!” Jongin talks to himself, trying to psyche himself up as he turns around to make his way back to the cabin.

The sun has began to set. Jongin was meaning to investigate much earlier but he kept talking himself out of it. Not that he was scared, of course. He was just busy folding his clothes to put away inside the closet. He had more important things to do than check the black figure that fell from the trees. Absolutely busy. Yes, very very busy indeed. “Maybe I ought to-”

Wait.

The black figure that fell from the trees.

Jongin looks around. He went out to look for and check it out, to know if the figure he saw was indeed a body. If it was, it would be in need of help. He already feels guilty as it is, having had come out later than he should have. And then he lets himself get distracted by a damn weasel on a hunt. _A weasel!_

Jongin groans.

“Great, just great! Perfect start to your much deserved break, Kim Jongin, a scavenger hunt. Splendid!” He mutters to himself as he goes back to the trail, pushing his way through bushes and shrubs, fallen branches requiring more effort to step around, now that he isn’t occupied with listening for the snapping sound from before.

He continues his search, looking back to the direction of the cabin for reference every few seconds. He saw the figure fall to the left of his window. He walks towards that direction now, unable to keep to the trail again. His manager told him not to stray from it, but Jongin has no choice. Not like the guy has a way to find out anyway, Jongin thinks. Unless he meets his untimely death in the forest and they find him off-trail, his manager wouldn’t have a way to know. Come to think of it, he’s old enough not to follow instructions. And it’s his break, for god’s sake! He deserves a few rule-breaking once in a while. He doesn’t need to keep up the Mr. Goody Two Shoes persona in the middle of a forest. Yes, no one can stop him from going rebel-mode here. Jongin smirks to himself, a little excited at the idea of being less than perfect for once, moving with a new lightness in his steps, careful not to trip on roots, his eyes peeled for any shade of black among the endless greens and browns. 

Jongin stops when he sees a narrow stream ahead, his steps slowing down. He looks around. He supposes it should be around here. It couldn’t have been past the stream. It would have been too far away for him to spot it from his cabin. He moves about carefully, looking at the ground, left, right. The anxiousness is back again. It’s a strange feeling. It makes his heart thump irregularly, a different kind of nervousness. 

He knows what he’s looking for but he doesn’t know what he will find. A body? A person? An animal? Jongin already thinks the situation is a little strange as it is. Who would climb a tree in the middle of a forest and fall off it? Plenty of people, maybe, but only those who have business to be there. He was told no one lives around here, and he supposes the private property means no trespassers are allowed. It could be a careta-

He sees it.

A black figure lying on the ground.

Jongin’s heartbeat picks up, the irregular thumping now a continuous fast drumbeat. He approaches carefully, steps surer than before. It’s real. What he saw was real. He wasn’t imagining it. 

A few steps away, Jongin could see it was a man, or a boy. But more a man. Jongin’s heartbeat refuses to slow down. His palms start sweating, he wipes them on his jeans. It’s real. Someone fell. It’s real. Oh god, should Jongin call an ambulance? What if he’s dead? What if he could have been saved if Jongin looked for him earlier? If only Jongin wasn’t such a coward. He wipes his palms again.

A few more steps, Jongin is almost afraid the man is already a corpse. He knows he should be hurrying to get closer, to help. But Jongin feels his feet move at their normal pace, slowly, carefully, surely. 

Closer still, Jongin notices the man is lying face up, arms and feet stretched, almost comfortably. As if asleep. It’s a comforting thought, the man fell from a tree and fell asleep. Asleep is better than dead.

When he finally reaches the figure, Jongin crouches beside him. The first thing he does is hold a finger out to the man’s nostrils, checking his breathing. Jongin exhales in relief when he feels warm breath on his skin.

The man is alive.

Jongin reluctantly moves his hand to touch the man's arm, noticing his clothes for the first time. Jongin halts. The man is dressed in all black. There is a black cloak wrapped around his shoulders, spread below him. His coat is black with black silken fur lining the collar around his neck. It is paired with black pants made from a heavy material that looks like wool. In his feet are black leather boots and around his hands, black leather gloves. 

Jongin is not ignorant about fashion, despite what his coordis have to say. He knows a thing or two and what he knows is that this man is not dressed for summer.

"Winter is more like it," Jongin mumbles, looking at the clothes, the fabric a deep deep shade of nothing but inky black. Expensive. The man's clothes do not look cheap. Not a costume, not for roleplay, definitely. Jongin touches the coat, fingers light and hesitant. Jongin pinches a bit of it, rolling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. As expected, the material feels heavy and thick. "Winter clothes, for sure."

Jongin doesn't know and understand what a man dressed for winter is doing up in a tree. He shakes his head. Questions, he has many. He continues his exploration, fascinated by the man's clothes, his fingers touching the brooch on the man's chest, fastened around the cloak. It's made of gold. Or at least, something that looks like gold. He’s never seen anything quite like it. It's shimmering, even without sunlight. It's beautiful, Jongin thinks, as his fingers continue their journey, now moving towards the fur around the man's neck. Jongin is a little excited to know what the fur feels like but stops when he feels eyes on him. He looks up and sees the man has opened his eyes, watching him.

Shit.

_Shit shit shit._

Jongin stills all movement, tense, his hand hanging awkwardly in the air.

"Hi," Jongin stupidly says.

The man frowns, eyes squinting up at him in what looks like a glare. Jongin gulps. This man better not be an axe murderer. 

“Uh, sorry I woke you up. I was just… uh, checking you for injuries. Er, yeah.” Jongin has always been a bad liar. "Can you sit up?"

The man's frown deepens. He looks scary like this, Jongin decides. Jongin tries to smile.

“Er, I’m sorry. I don’t really know the protocol for this kind of situations. Do you want me to call an ambulance? Maybe you broke a rib or two. Definitely your leg. You fell down pretty high, you know? What were you even doing up there?” Jongin raises his head to look up and frowns. He looks around and frowns some more, his face probably a mirror of the man lying before him.

They are in a clearing, small and narrow. The nearest tall tree from them is a few steps away. The trees next to Jongin are not very tall, perhaps a few feet high, but not very tall, no. He looks at the man again, staring back at him. The man couldn't have walked after he fell. Jongin is certain he fell higher than the trees near them. Jongin saw from his window. He fell from a very high height, almost close to the top of the trees. To be this far, the man would have to walk here from where he fell, lain down on the ground and fell asleep. But he couldn't have. Unless he fell from thin air. Which sounds much more absurd.

Jongin feels a headache coming. He closes his eyes briefly, hands coming up to massage his temples. This was supposed to be a break. Relaxation. What is he doing here, talking to a strange man. This isn't-

He feels a hand on his arm, his eyes shooting wide open in surprise. The hand on his arm is very very cold.

"Hi," the man says, his voice deep and rough. 

Jongin immediately reaches his hand to touch the man's forehead, foregoing asking for permission. He retracts his hand a second after. Icy cold. The man is icy cold.

"What the fuck," Jongin says in bewilderment, his thoughts in a jumble. "Okay. Uh, okay. Wait."

"Hi," the man repeats again. Jongin looks down at him, beyond confused. 

"You're cold," Jongin states, disbelief in his voice. "You're cold, really really cold."

"Cold?" 

"Yes, cold. We need to call an ambulance. _I_ need to call an ambulance. Damn it. You're freezing, dressed in winter clothes. You fell from a tree. Or the sky. I don't know. But you fell, you could have broken a rib or two. Or your back. God, what if you become paralyzed. This is all my fault. I should have checked on you sooner. I'm so sorry. I'll pay for your medical bills, okay?"

Jongin remembers the media belatedly.

Fuck.

"Damnit. They're going to have a field day."

"Cold," the man says again, eyes watching him intently. Jongin feels guilt washing over him. He should have come sooner.

"Yes, cold. I know. I’m really sorry. Wait, let me get my phone, I need to call my manager," Jongin stands up, dusting his hands on his jeans. His legs feel like jelly. 

The man sits up with him, and immediately grimaces in pain, hand going to clutch at his side.

Jongin crouches beside him again, hand coming up behind the man’s back to support him. He’s cold, Jongin’s hand presses instinctively, wanting to share his body heat. He needs to get him to the cabin.

“Can you stand up?” It’s a silly question, Jongin knows. This man fell from several meters above, tree or sky, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that he fell down. But somehow, seeing him like this, alive and breathing, dressed in winter clothes and freezing, Jongin doesn’t find it impossible for him to walk. Somehow, it makes sense in Jongin’s head. “We need to walk back up to the cabin. I can call my manager from there. Can you stand? Here, let me help you.”

Jongin moves to grab the man’s arm, but stops when he notices dried blood, barely noticeable on the man’s black clothes, but very visible on exposed skin, a gash on his arm. The man is injured.

"You’re bleeding," Jongin says, surprise and worry in his voice.

"Cold," the man just says, staring up at him, a message seemingly behind his eyes. Jongin notices, for the first time, that the man has really wide eyes, clear and unblinking. The man is in pain, that much is certain. The wound may have stopped bleeding but the wound needs to be treated. He's freezing too. Jongin really needs to get him back to the cabin.

"I'll help you stand. Tell me if it hurts. If you can't, I'll need to call someone first, okay?" Jongin moves and loops his arm around the man's torso, gently, afraid he'll hurt him further. He holds out his other arm for the man to grab. Jongin waits, watching the determined look on the man's face as he grips the offered arm with his good hand. 

When they stand up, Jongin feels the other is trying his best not to put too much weight against him. "It's alright, just lean on me," Jongin says, watching the man's face contort in pain. His body is cold. Despite the thick clothes, Jongin could feel the cold seeping through to his own skin. It makes him shiver, despite the warm humid weather. 

"Can you walk?" Jongin asks as he arranges himself around the man better, hold gentle. Jongin looks at the man in his arm and watches him grimace in pain. He's breathing deeply. Up close like this, Jongin can see how long his lashes are, his skin clear and smooth, almost too white. All traces of winter in summer.

The man opens his eyes with visible effort and looks up at Jongin, eyes determined. The downturn of his lips are noticeable, the clench of his teeth and the furrow in his brow all too familiar. Jongin remembers himself, tired and waist hurting but smiling as he continues to shoot well into the morning, enduring the pain, pretending it's not wearing him thin, like a sharp comb that sifts through his muscles, grating and unforgiving. But when he's alone in the bathroom, taking a break, he allows himself a moment of truthfulness. Allows himself to look tired and aged. Jongin sees the same look on the man's face now. He's seen it in the mirror too many times and he feels an odd sense of warmth in his chest, a connection. He briefly wonders, if he allowed others to see this side of him, would they have also wanted to help?

"Maybe," Jongin whispers to himself, as his eyes travel across the man's face, worried. "Maybe not."

The man starts the first step and Jongin follows, guiding silently. The first few meters were made with much difficulty, their steps not matching. They stumble a few times, over roots and some undergrowth. Vines tangled under their shoes and boots, path uneven, but with some effort, they find a rhythm with their feet. Jongin feels a strain in his arm, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The man is not heavy, no. But having to move carefully, trying not to hurt him, Jongin can't help but feel himself get tired and worn. 

Jongin tries not to think as they walk, fielding off the questions his brain is asking him. The best thing to do now is to get to the cabin as fast as possible. Get the man in his arms the help he needs. Jongin will think then.

Halfway through their journey, Jongin has moved the other's right arm around his shoulders, his left arm around the man's torso, as his right acts to balance their steps, occasionally weaving through bushes and thickets as they walk back to the trail. 

Slowly but surely, they make their way through the forest.

 

WHEN THEY arrive at the cabin, the sun has almost disappeared over the horizon, the last of its rays peeking through the tops of the pine trees. There is no rain, but the air is colder than it is warm, the night lending a hand to fight the humidity.

Upon entering, the first thing Jongin does is set the man down on the bed, laying him down on the pillows, careful with his feet. The man had been silent the whole walk back, save for a few grunts of pain every few steps. Now, he lays there, looking at Jongin with tired clear eyes. The warmth in Jongin's chest is yet to vanish.

"I need to check you for more injuries," Jongin says, standing up. The man's eyes follow his movement. He may look tired, but his gaze is sharp. Jongin feels oddly scrutinized, not judged, but assessed. He moves to the table where he left his phone this afternoon. He notices he has over a hundred missed calls, and even more text messages. He groans, throwing his phone back on the table. Those idiots never stop. How they find his number so fast every time is beyond him. "I'll call my manager later, for now, let's get you out of your clothes and into something comfortable."

Truth be told, Jongin is bewildered. He played a doctor once, a drama three years ago. He wasn't lead then, it was a small role. He didn't know much about medical procedures, but he memorised a lot of terms. He was at the hospital set many days for those four months, sleep lacking, running on coffee that he hates so much. Jongin looks at the man lying down on the bed, dressed in all black, wondering how he was able to walk from the clearing back to the cabin with a mere limp in his steps. Why are there no broken bones? He was in pain, yes, but he was alright for the most part. Jongin had expected him dead. A fall that high? Surely, he would have suffered from far more injuries. If Jongin calls a doctor now, what will he tell them? It all seems too unreal. 

Jongin decides to find out more first as he moves back to the bed and sits on the edge, hand reaching for the man's boots. "Let's get you out of these, yeah?" The man stays silent, eyes curious, watching. 

Jongin knows the boots are handmade. There is no brand, the make a fine leather. He slides them off the man's feet, first the right, then the left. The boots are heavy, the soles thick. Obviously made for winter snow. Questions, so many questions.

Jongin moves slightly on the bed, scooting closer with a smile. The man just looks on, eyes curiouser and curiouser. Jongin really really likes his eyes, he decides. Jongin has seen a lot of eyes, has gazed at many, and he has found most of them liars, saying the opposite of what the faces they belong to say. Most actors are good with facial expressions, feigning sadness and happiness, love and hatred, but few are capable of talking with their eyes. Most of the time, Jongin sees flat eyes, unliving, robotic. They scare Jongin. But not this man's eyes. They are very round, almost too wide, but clear. Very clear. They are not flat, nor are they guarded. They are just clear eyes. Beautiful eyes.

Jongin blinks, feeling his cheeks warm. He has been staring too long. The man just looks on.

"Let's take off your cloak, it's warmer here," Jongin says as he reaches for the brooch fastening the man's cloak, fiddling with it to take it off. After a few failed attempts, he feels cold hands on his own, pushing his fingers away gently. Jongin watches as the man takes it off himself, making quick work of the lock, the gold shimmering more than ever with the light overhead. The man looks up at Jongin, a small smile on his face. Jongin can't help but smile in return, the warmth in his chest blossoming even more. "Er, thanks. It's my first time seeing something like it. I didn't know how to, uh, take it off," Jongin laughs, his hand scratching his neck sheepishly, as his other hand reaches for the brooch, thumb brushing against the gleaming surface, admiring. "Beautiful," he says, "it's very beautiful."

The man's brows furrows, as if thinking, he reaches for the brooch on his chest, fingers brushing against Jongin's. Jongin ignores the blush that spreads across his cheeks. "Beautiful."

"Yes, beautiful," Jongin smiles, trying his best not to think of the warmth where their fingers are touching. "What is it made-"

The man begins to move his other hand then, reaching towards Jongin's face. Jongin stills as he feels the other's palm on his cheek. The touch is warmer now, not as icy cold as it was before, though that might be because the warmth on Jongin's cheeks has roared into a flame, spreading across his face like wildfire.

"Beautiful," the man repeats, looking at Jongin with his clear clear eyes, honest and so sincere, his thumb gently caressing the skin he could touch on Jongin's face, red and blushing.

Something in Jongin's head clicks then.

"You can't understand me, can you?" Jongin realizes, the red in his cheeks turning to embarrassment. The man's brows furrow, as if thinking, mulling over Jongin's words in his head. Jongin sighs, "You can't."

The man drops his hand, a frown on his face, his clear eyes clouding with concern. Jongin smiles at him, a little sadly, understanding. He should have noticed earlier. The man was silent most of the time, repeating words he has heard Jongin say. Jongin wipes his face with his hand, shaking his head at himself. This day is just full of surprises. 

"So you can't understand me?" Jongin asks, not expecting an answer. He notices the man is looking at his lips, intently watching the way he forms words, studying. "You really don't. Wow, okay." Jongin breathes.

The man just knits his brows further.

Jongin purses his lips. "Okay. Uh, I’m really not good at this. I’m sorry. But, how about we start with introductions? Names. I haven't told you my name yet. I'm Jongin," he says, pointing to himself. "Jong-In. Jongin. Jong-In," Jongin repeats, pronouncing each syllable clearly, finger jabbing at his own chest. "Jongin." 

The man just looks at him at first, watching his lips. After a second, he says, "Jongin."

"Yes! Jongin! I'm Jongin," Jongin says a little excitedly. He then points his fingers to the man this time, "You?"

The man raises an eyebrow. Jongin smiles. He supposes some nonverbal cues are the same everywhere, regardless of language. 

"Yes, you?" He points to himself again, "Jongin," then points to the man, waiting for him to understand.

The man's face lights up in understanding, "Kyungsoo. Kyung-Soo," he says with a smile, his lips forming a pretty heart, bow stretched and pink across his face. Jongin tries to fight the blush spreading across his own cheeks, but as before, he is unsuccessful. He chooses to ignore it.

"Kyungsoo," Jongin tries saying the name. "Kyungsoo. It's a pretty name. It suits you," Jongin says. Actually, Jongin would describe Kyungsoo as handsome, more so than pretty. His face has masculine features with his thick eyebrows, high nose and strong jaw. He is short in stature, yes, but Jongin could tell from wrapping his arms around him earlier that he is well built, arms strong and hands sure with their grip. But the word pretty also suits him, with his big wide eyes, clear and very very beautiful, to his pink lips, curving up into a heart-shaped smile. "Kyungsoo," Jongin repeats again, liking the way the two syllables roll off his tongue, easy and smooth.

Kyungsoo is smiling at him, a little tiredness showing across his face. Their fingers are still touching across the brooch on Kyungsoo's chest, the golden surface glinting up at them. Jongin smiles at this, moving to place his hand on top of Kyungsoo's properly. This time, the blush across his cheek is not unwelcome.

"Kyungsoo, how about we get you out of your clothes for real this time? Let’s clean your wound and then I'll cook us dinner afterwards and then you can sleep. I'll call my manager and we can take you to the nearest hospital. How's that?"

Kyungsoo's brows furrow for the upteenth time that night. Jongin chuckles lightly, holding and touching Kyungsoo’s hand, all traces of coldness gone from the other’s skin. He has a bit more color now, not the ghost-like whiteness from before. Jongin reaches out to smooth the creases on the other’s forehead with his thumb. Kyungsoo's eyes widen ever so slightly, a bit of red seeping into his cheeks. Jongin smirks, glad he's not the only one. 

The anxiousness following Jongin all day is now long gone, disappeared, replaced by a lightness he has not felt outside of drama filmings, pretending in front of cameras to convince the audience of feelings he has not felt by himself before. It has always been fed to him, written in scripts in black and white–for his heart to flutter, for his cheeks to redden, for his heart to swell from happiness with just a simple smile. But here, there are no cameras, no directors and a hundred staff watching him, and yet he feels all of these and more. Such a short amount of time, not even a full day has passed, and Jongin’s heart is already fluttering for a stranger.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo murmurs, voice rough with tiredness, hand tugging at his cloak. He must be feeling too warm in his thick coat.

“Ah, yes, yes, sorry,” Jongin says sheepishly, finally moving, a silly smile on his face. Kyungsoo chuckles at him, the sound short and deep but Jongin hears it. His heart skips a beat. 

Is it possible to be attracted to someone so much, so fast? Is this normal? He should post on Pann to ask, maybe. 

Jongin gently tugs the cloak off, as he reaches for the coat, careful not to touch Kyungsoo’s wound. Kyungsoo just looks at him, a little sleepy smile on his face, gaze tender. Jongin’s heart forgoes skipping for a stutter.

Yes, Jongin should do that, he decides, as he carefully eases Kyungsoo out of his coat, blushing at the thought of undressing the man.

 

_**3** _  
**El Dorado; Spring 32BX**

Lord Baekhyun is fuming. It is seldom he is angry, his demeanor always bright and happy, always a ready smile on his lips. But not right now. Today, he is livid.

The Golden Guard is gleaming in the early morning light, the castle walls a shimmering bright yellow, the Kingdom’s Gold hue, surface dancing with sparkles of white. The Lord of Light is very proud of his work but today, he pays it no mind. He passes by the other members of the council, their curious eyes following his lithe form as he strides up the center of the hall, long robe flowing behind him. 

“Lord Chanyeol!” he calls, steps quick across the marbled floor. The Lord of Fire stops in his tracks, as does his companions, his counsel dressed in fiery red, as he is. 

“Ah, Lord Baekhyun, a pleasant morning!” the Lord smiles at him, lips stretched in a wide grin. “I must say, the light today is particularly beautiful. Spring really is here! Excellent work, as always.” 

“Of course, my work is always excellent,” Baekhyun laughs as he approaches, stopping right beside the taller man, grabbing ahold of the other’s elbow, pressing his chest closer against his arm. Baekhyun whispers, “Can I have a word?”

Lord Chanyeol’s smile falters, his eyes harden for a split second, only for him to laugh right after. Baekhyun doesn’t miss the change, however. His suspicions only grow stronger. “Of course, Lord Baekhyun! I can spare you a few minutes. What is it? What matters do you have in mind?”

Baekhyun looks around them, the Lord of Fire’s companions watching him, their eyes piercing, faces stone-hard and expressionless, a direct contrast to their Lord’s. “I would like to speak to you alone.”

“Alone? Why not here? I’m sure my advisors would love to-”

“Alone,” Baekhyun insists. Lord Chanyeol’s lips tighten into a thin line, staring down at Baekhyun. There was a time, long long ago, when they were little kids, him and the other Creator’s sons played in the castle’s garden during these Council Meetings. Down below, they would run around, playing heroes and royals under the rain with no care for the world as they waited for their fathers to finish their business with the King. It has always excited them to see each other, a meeting that occurred once every full turn. Sheltered in their own cities, it was the only time they get to be children, no advisors and madames following them around. But now, as grown adults, they no longer look forward to the meetings, the weight of the responsibilities Passed to them too heavy on their shoulders.

“Alright. Alone,” Lord Chanyeol finally says. He nods to his companions, sending them ahead. Baekhyun waits for them to disappear around the corner before he moves across the hall, down a flight of stairs and into an alcove, stopping by a coat of arms. He looks around before turning to face Chanyeol behind him.

“Why would you kill Milo?” Baekhyun starts.

Lord Chanyeol shrugs with a smile. “Why would I kill the King’s Keeper?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“So why are you asking?”

“We were to execute him, anyway, for treason,” Baekhyun says through clenched teeth, trying his best to keep his voice even. “You could have at least given the old man some time with his family.”

“You old souls take too much time enacting your justice. You had no evidence. You were going to set him free, pardoned, relieved of his duties, given a vacation home by the edge while you appease the people, making up lies about the Crown Prince’s disappearance. Meanwhile, the King will pass away and who will take the throne? Ah, right. You, the next Family in line. Shouldn’t _you_ be tried for treason, Lord Baekhyun?” Chanyeol says, that infuriating smile still in place, voice calm and condescending. Baekhyun cannot believe how far gone his old friend has become with greed. It takes all of his willpower not to strangle him. “I didn’t kill the man. Milo’s son is to blame. The torch fell down, set his house on fire. The scrolls have been closed. Were you not listening this morning? We discussed this with the Council. If I were you, I would spend less time worrying about the dead and more time looking for the living. Our poor prince! Missing!”

Baekhyun grits his teeth in frustration, staring at Chanyeol’s smiling face, a look of triumph in the other’s eyes. Baekhyun has never been good with politics. That’s Junmyeon’s forte, traveling around as Ambassador to the other Human planets–Krillo, Earth & Myos, sister planets to their own Exo, home to El Dorado. 

When Milo and Kale arrived yesterday with the unfortunate news, the Council has been called for an emergency meeting. An ambush on the prince, planned and calculated, surely an insider’s work. While the news spread across the Kingdom, the council turned on Milo to take the blame. They asked and asked, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t deny the charges but he refused to disclose the true mastermind. And yet, this morning, as Baekhyun weaves the Light into the sky, they found Milo dead.

“He didn’t name you. He was loyal to you to the very end and yet you burn him and his sons,” Baekhyun swallows the lump in his throat. Chanyeol only blinks.

“I told you, I didn’t-”

“I know of your Family’s coal business with the Rogues, Chanyeol,” Baekhyun interrupts. Chanyeol had the decency to look surprised. They have stopped calling each other by their lone first names when they took their place in the Council, little kids playing in the castle gardens no more. It is the first time in years Baekhyun addressed the Lord of Fire as a friend, hoping to see a single sign of remorse for his corruption, “An endless winter, really? You burn the forests here for your coal to a captive market and then what? And what do the Rogues get in return? The throne? Who will rule us? That Rogue Sehun? He can’t even rule over his own pet!”

“You have no proof!” Chanyeol shouts, his voice ringing around the alcove, the sound bouncing against the walls. His face is red, his fists are clenched tight by his side, the perfect image of Fire, just like his city in the south.

“I don’t. I don’t have physical proof but it doesn’t matter. The Rouge Xiumin is dead now. He can’t control winter to sustain your business. Trees will start growing soon, Lord Yixing will be hard at work these coming years. No one will need coal for months.”

Chanyeol remains silent, fuming.

“Winter comes once a year, when we turn a full circle. Your Family is not lacking in gold. Why want for more, Chanyeol? Why make us suffer for more?”

“You have no proof,” Chanyeol repeats, “Milo is dead. Master Xiumin is dead. Master Chen is the next rightful King.”

“Why? Because you slept with him once?”

“I didn’t-” Chanyeol splutters, taking a step back. Baekhyun laughs.

“I have ears across the Kingdom. You slept with me once too, many turns ago, and yet you’re not too eager to make me the next King. Infact, you’ve taken to blackmailing me as the mastermind behind the ambush, as I would be next to take the throne with Kyungsoo gone.”

Chanyeol’s ears has turned a deep scarlet red, “You have no proof.”

“Keep repeating that,” Baekhyun is amused, the anger he was feeling subsiding, replaced by deep regret. His old friend, corrupted by greed and personal vendetta, “You never did like the prince.”

“He is not fit to be King.”

“Just because he doesn’t bow down to all of your demands does not make him unfit to rule the Kingdom. He is courteous to you, despite your attempts to make use of him in court. He lets you do as you please as long as you don’t take it too far. But you often take it _too_ far.”

“He hates me.”

“We all do.”

“That isn’t-”

“Chanyeol, Milo has Passed his ability to Kale on their way back,” Baekhyun informs his friend, his voice soft with regret. “I am to leave with him this afternoon with Junmyeon to look for the prince.”

Chanyeol’s eyes are wide, “He couldn’t have! He wouldn’t have! You told me he was loyal to the very end!”

“He was. Milo didn’t name you. He might have hated the prince after you poisoned him with your stories, ideas rotten of how evil Kyungsoo is. But he still has the Kingdom’s best interest in mind. He knew he would die in your hands, long before we can appoint his replacement as Keeper and Pass his ability. Kale is very young, but he is eager to serve.”

Baekhyun does not take satisfaction from the way Chanyeol’s face turns pale, from the way his whole frame sags as he leans on the stone walls. He feels pity. Politics has taught him that you don’t fight your battles in the open. You do it silently. Discreetly. On paper. Baekhyun does not like war. It has taken their fathers years to calm the Rogue’s cities and keep them under the Kingdom’s rule. He does not want Chanyeol’s city to be an enemy of the crown.

“We will take the ship and head for Earth after noon,” Baekhyun says, as he steps towards the stairs from where they came. “We will land on Earth in a few day’s time. By then, the prince would have healed fully. I expect you to be on your best behavior when we return.”

“What will become of me?” Chanyeol asks quietly.

“I will not speak of this conversation with the Council. As you say, I have no proof. But I will not forget, Lord Chanyeol. I have ears around the Kingdom, please do remember. We will catch the Rogues soon with the Keeper out of your pocket. Your monopoly on the planet’s supply of coal has ended with Spring here. Prince Kyungsoo will be back soon, ready to take the throne as the next King. And you, you will do your duty as Lord of Fire, nothing more, nothing less.”

Chanyeol has his head down, silent for once.

“Very well. Good morn, Lord Chanyeol. I’ll see you in the hall,” Baekhyun makes for the stairs when Chanyeol speaks.

“Why Earth? Of all the planets he could have gone to, why Earth?”

Baekhyun thinks of the prince disappearing every afternoon, teleporting to Mt. Captcka, the only remaining mountain in the Kingdom with trees. He thinks of the volumes of books up in the prince’s chambers, all of Earth, populated with a race of Humans adept in technology, always tinkering and busy with their moving books and paintings. Baekhyun never understood Junmyeon’s stories of Earth, their people too busy with war, with monopolies as corrupt as Chanyeol is. And yet the prince has been so taken by the Ambassador’s stories of vast land covered with trees, of rain that falls plentiful from their sky. Baekhyun knows that if the prince isn’t in the Kingdom, as Milo has said, the first place he would escape to is the one place he has wanted to visit for years. 

“Trees and rain,” Baekhyun says, not turning around. “The prince has always wanted to visit for the trees and the rain. Things you have taken from and deprived him for years.”

With that, the Lord of Light ascends the stairs, heart lighter than it has ever been.

 

_**4** _  
**Earth; Summer 2016**

It has not rained since the first day. 

Kyungsoo looks out of the cabin’s large window, out to the miles and miles of trees, as far as his eyes could see. Now that Kyungsoo can see them better, he sees that there is a mixture of various types, all different from the ones he is used to back home. There are some trees with tall and thick trunks, their leaves heart-shaped and a dark dark green, some with narrow trunks that reach high up to the sky, some are shorter with little leaves on tiny twigs that reach across and over, while others are with branches so numerous they sprawl low and hanging almost to the ground. Kyungsoo does not know their names, does not know how these humans call them, but the trees here are plenty, healthy, free to grow and live for many many years. He tries not to think of the trees back home, their days numbered. When he is King, he will do all that he can to repopulate the land with all the greens again. Kyungsoo smiles at the thought, his heart happily humming in contentment in his chest, watching the clear blue sky outside, blanketing the miles of green, white clouds littering the wide expanse of the lightest of blue. 

He longs to go out and explore, to walk among the tree trunks on the ground, to teleport to the topmost branch of the tallest tree and look down on the endless green below, to feel the warm wind on his face, to feel freedom. Here on Earth, he is no prince, just a stranger on a strange land, responsibilities none, free time many. However, Kyungsoo is still too weak to do so. The ache in his limbs is gone, his body healing naturally, all broken bones set and straight as they were, but he has not completely healed. His power is still weak, it fizzles at his fingertips, static stuttering. He has tried exerting strength on a leaf, thin and small on his palm, his eyes set on it in concentration, imagining it bursting to crystal dust. It didn’t move. Even the simplest of actions, his strength could not suffice. He has tried the first night to copy the Earth’s human language, palm set on the man’s cheek, trying with all his might to seep words and meanings through his skin. He tried, but he couldn’t. 

Kyungsoo’s ears redden, remembering the man’s red face under his touch, blush dusting across his cheeks. He looks to the other side of the cabin, where the man is currently standing, cooking them their breakfast, an Earth delicacy he calls ‘ _ramyun_ ’. 

Jongin. The man’s name is Jongin. 

Kyungsoo has seen illustrations of the Humans of Earth, his books back home are clipped with diagrams and sketches in black and white, done in the hand of Ambassadors such as Lord Junmyeon, and the many many lines before him. They look similar to the race of humans in his own planet, save for the absence of their abilities. According to a book he has read, the tome as old as his Father King, the humans on Earth had abilities as well, long long ago. But instead of electing them to office to protect the lands, they were persecuted, hunted and burned at the stakes. _Witches and warlocks_ , they were called. They were purged, until so few are left, in hiding now, a dying line. Lord Baekhyun had thought of the humans on Earth as brutal wildlings, fit to be banished to the edges. But Lord Junmyeon said they were warm people, if one is to truly know them. They had prejudices, yes, but what human doesn’t. 

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin again. Back then, Kyungsoo had agreed with the Lord of Light, but now, he finds himself agreeing with the Ambassador. 

Jongin had been a source of warmth that first night. He had dressed Kyungsoo’s open wound, the gash in Kyungsoo’s arm not as deep as it was when he found him, the healing stitching up the flesh slowly. Jongin had looked at it then, his eyes full of questions he didn’t ask. Kyungsoo wouldn’t have been able to answer, of course, but he had appreciated the silence. 

Kyungsoo could understand bits and pieces of Earth language, single words he had read in his books, words he recognize but can’t put together. But Jongin had been patient with him, despite Kyungsoo’s inability to communicate with words. He had stayed beside him, helping him with his clothes, hand gentle and careful, touch warm and comforting. He had turned away when needed, when Kyungsoo took off his breeches, a dust of pink on his cheeks, the same color on Kyungsoo’s own. 

That night, Kyungsoo had asked Jongin to stay with him, to keep him warm, to dispel any remaining cold from Xiumin’s freezes, nothing more. Jongin had agreed, immediately understanding Kyungsoo’s meaning when he gestured to the space beside him on the bed. And when they had settled for the night, with Jongin’s hands wound around him, his skin warm against Kyungsoo’s own, Kyungsoo knew it wasn’t simply for the cold, but for the companionship, and the need to touch.

Kyungsoo has never felt attraction so strong and easy as he felt that day, like a pull he could not resist, a path destined for him to take. Kyungsoo does not believe in fate, soulmates a silly concept to him, much to the dismay of Lord Baekhyun, a firm believer and advocate of the study of the cosmos, the stars and the planets aligning perfectly to dictate a person's future. Kyungsoo still does not believe, but he thinks he now knows why so many people do, why they go to the Lord of Light for readings into their future, wanting to know if their other half is just over the horizon. Kyungsoo now understands as he gazes at Jongin across the room, the man’s back broad and shoulders wide, long arms moving about the counter of bowls and makeshift fire, stirring the broth Kyungsoo has grown to like.

“Maquero,” Kyungsoo says outloud, eyes never leaving Jongin, who turns to him at the sound of his voice. The diagrams and illustrations in his books do Jongin no justice. Jongin’s back is beautiful but it does not compare to his face, chiseled like marble, sharp edges and smooth panes, perfect proportions from his eyes to the tip of his nose, to the bow of his full lips. Jongin looks like he was patterned from parchment drawn for builders to base their statues of, and he is the breathing living product of their days of hard work. Jongin raises an eyebrow at him, his hair a dark deep brown, tousled from sleep (and maybe, Kyungsoo’s fingers, he could not remember). Kyungsoo finds himself deeply submerged in shallow waters. He repeats, “Maquero, qui maquero.”

Beautiful, very beautiful.

 _“Are you staring again?”_ Jongin asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. Kyungsoo just smiles as he stands up, moving across the cabin towards him. Jongin smiles back, his eyes turning into crescents, face so open and welcoming. Kyungsoo loves that about him, how easily he can read him, like one of the books from his library back home. And like his books, Kyungsoo cannot help but grow attached to every one of Jongin’s pages.“Breakfast’s almost ready. Come and eat.”

Kyungsoo does not understand the words, of course, but he has learned to read the atmosphere, has learned to read the silence between them, like a special language for them both. He finds himself understanding what Jongin means, with words, without words. Often times, it is as if he could hear him in his own tongue, the Earth language sounding less foreign to his ears the more he hears it. Jongin isn’t a speaker, he seldom does, but he would sometimes talk to Kyungsoo as if he could understand. He would speak slowly, clearly, enunciating each word properly. There are times in his stories when his face would light up with child-like wonder, hand gesticulating in front of him like a dance. Kyungsoo can only imagine what he is saying, no context to help him understand, but still, Kyungsoo would listen attentively, hanging on his every sentences. Kyungsoo isn’t paying attention to the words, however, but to the sound of Jongin’s voice, deep and warm, a blanket of sound that wraps around Kyungsoo so exclusively, privately.

Kyungsoo walks next to Jongin on the counter, fetching the bowl and spoons, and these sticks they use to bring food to their lips. Kyungsoo has not yet learned how to use them, despite Jongin’s attempts at teaching him.

Kyungsoo hums, arms grazing against Jongin’s in the small space. It had made him blush the first time it happened, the first morning days ago, but today he doesn’t react to it, a familiar buzz in his skin, a pleasant tingle the spreads through him. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips. 

Utensils gathered in his hands he begins laying them down on the table one by one, as Jongin brings over the pot of red steaming broth. They sit down together, Jongin’s long legs touching his calves underneath the table. Kyungsoo lifts the lid of the pot, the now familiar smell of ramyun filling the air.

 _“I added odeng today. And some onion and leeks. Kimchi too, an egg, two slices of cheese,”_ Jongin tells him as he takes Kyungsoo’s bowl and ladles it with soup. _“You seem to really like it when I put cheese, and you enjoyed the odeng soup I cooked yesterday.”_ He adds some of the greens and the browns, sliced up into squares, using his sticks to transfer strands of noodles, careful not to spill. He hands it back to Kyungsoo, who takes the steaming bowl and digs his spoon in for a sip of the broth, a few vegetables finding their way in. Jongin looks at him expectantly. 

Kyungsoo cocks his head to the side, chewing carefully. Back in the castle, he was taught how to appreciate good dishes, to taste each ingredient carefully, and then let the flavors come together as one in the end. He was taught to give praise where it is due but he was also taught to pretend he is enjoying the food even if it is not to his taste, to always compliment the cook for his efforts while being polite with constructive criticisms. 

The soup today is the most delicious Kyungso has tasted the dish of but he decides to make Jongin wait. So he takes another spoonful, this time with some of this _odeng_ , as Jongin calls it, and chews it slowly, putting on his practiced face of contemplation.

 _“Why aren’t you saying anything? Do you hate it?”_ Jongin asks him, watching him worriedly. _“Maybe I shouldn’t have added the kimchi. You don’t like that one? The sour vegetables?”_

Kyungsoo hums, taking another sip. Jongin squirms in his seat as he takes a spoon to the pot to take a sip himself. His brows furrow in confusion when he does. _“It tastes okay. I mean, more than okay, actually.”_ He looks a little flustered now. Kyungsoo thinks Jongin looks beautiful with his flushed skin, letting a little smile slip into his lips. Jongin looks beautiful in and with anything, Kyungsoo decides, hiding his smile behind his spoon. He briefly wonders, what Jongin would look like in Council robes, the white pristine cloth against his tanned skin, billowy and regal on his tall frame. Jongin notices his smile, however, his eyes narrowing into slits. _“Wait, are you teasing me?”_

Kyungsoo knows he has caught on. Kyungsoo just shrugs his shoulders and continues to eat, the smile not leaving his lips. He gestures to the pot in the middle of their table and says one of the first words he has learned, “Cold.” 

Across from him, Jongin lets out a whine, like a petulant child, a new page of him that Kyungsoo finds as endearing as the others he has seen before. Kyungsoo answers with a smile, extending his legs under the table, tangling them with Jongin’s long ones, calves warm against Jongin’s own. This makes Jongin stop and sit still. Kyungsoo chuckles into his spoon, about to say another word he has learned, _delicious_ , when he sees a flash of light outside. Kyungsoo’s pulse quickens.

He pushes his chair back, standing up, his heart beating faster with each step he takes. Behind him, he hears Jongin standing up as well. When he reaches the window and looks outside, the sky is no longer a light blue, but numerous shades of white and black, the clouds a heavy gray. Another flash of lightning, shortly followed by thunder and then the clouds let out the heavy rain, the sound of it like raining bullets on the roof. 

Rain. Finally.

Kyungsoo looks at Jongin beside him, smile wide on his lips, heart hammering in his chest like a drum. Jongin looks at him with questions in his eyes. The same look he always gets when Kyungsoo is not looking, but Kyungsoo knows. He could feel Jongin’s curiosity, always present but never verbalized. Jongin talks to him about many things, things Kyungsoo does not understand but wants to. Jongin never asks questions, but Kyungsoo wants to give him answers, wants to tell him so many things, so many stories of his own.

Another flash of lightning. 

Kyungsoo remembers the rogue Chen back in El Dorado with his lightning bolts, each of his hits keeping Kyungsoo awake through Xiumin’s freezes, charging him, restoring his strength little by little, until Kyungsoo could hear power buzzing in his ears. 

He looks at Jongin beside him, then back outside to the pouring rain. He needs to do this, to restore his strength faster so he can use his abilities sooner, so he may put his palm on Jongin’s cheek and copy his language, to tell him how beautiful he is in so many words, to describe to him the beauty of his face to the beauty of his heart, to tell him how his warmth has thawed not only Kyungsoo’s cold skin but also the ice around his heart.

 _“Ih mayee yui,”_ Kyungsoo says, eyes boring deep into Jongin’s own, conveying his meaning, hoping for him to understand. 

Wait for me.

Kyungsoo runs outside then, feet quick, steps hurried. He opens the door of the cabin, the sound of the rain louder now. Jongin calls his name behind him, but Kyungsoo does not turn around. He steps outside and under the rain, the heavy beat of water on his skin a welcome shower. He runs outside, closer to the trees, a slight limp still in his steps. 

“Kyungsoo!”

Kyungsoo does not look back as he moves down the slope towards the forest, the coldness seeping into his clothes–Jongin’s clothes, the garment longer than his limbs, folded at the ends, but they’re comfortable. Kyungsoo loved sleeping in them. Now they are drenched, heavy on his body, chilling his skin with wetness so very cold. But it is a kind of cold he can endure. He has lived through years of winter, through snow and hail storms, chilling biting cold, through Xiumin’s freezes, like heat on his skin. This cold is nothing Kyungsoo cannot endure.

As he runs down, the heavy rain relentless against his back, he thinks of what else it means for his strength to be restored sooner. To be able to teleport again. To be able to go home. Home to his Kingdom, to his people, to his duties. 

To leave Jongin.

“Kyungsoo!”

Jongin emerges from the cabin, stepping out and running after him, the rain pouring over his figure like a fountain from the heavens. Kyungsoo is right. Jongin does look good in anything, his clothes as drenched as Kyungsoo’s are, sticking to his torso, clinging like second skin to his arms and thighs. His hair is dripping wet, plastered to his forehead. Kyungsoo wants to run his fingers through the strands again, to feel the wetness through his fingers, strands sliding through his palm. Oh how Kyungsoo wants. But-

_“Kyungsoo what are you doing?”_

Jongin is a few meters away, the slope slippery. He is careful with his steps now, his running slowing down to a walk. Kyungsoo can see his concerned face through the gray rain. Jongin is drenched from head to toe, and yet he is worried of Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo feels warmth blossom in his heart, the kind he has learned to associate with Jongin, the kind that he feels every morning when he wakes up with the Light shining outside their window, Jongin’s chest pressed close against his face, the kind that he feels when Jongin would smile at him, eyes so tender and sincere, like Kyungsoo is the most precious to him in the world, greater than all of his gold and silver. This warmth is present now, spreading throughout his chest, a nice contrast to the chilling wetness of his skin.

Warmth, trees and rain.

Kyungsoo has found all of them.

He lets out a laugh, happiness bubbling from his heart to his throat, a lightness so foreign overtaking him. Back home, it has been nothing but cold winter days, cold winter nights, storms of hail and snow. The trees dwindling in number as forest after forest are burned to coal. And the rain, only a memory with the Kingdom under an endless winter. 

Here on Earth, Kyungsoo has found the things he was looking for, the things he lacks, the things he has longed for.

He looks at Jongin, nearing him, a few feet away now, Kyungsoo’s own personal source of warmth. Kyungsoo’s heart pangs in his chest.

He raises his hand just as the clouds are split by a flash of light, concentrating what little strength he has to draw it towards him.

Warmth, trees and rain.

Kyungsoo has found them all, but now he has to say goodbye. 

El Dorado is waiting for him. His Kingdom needs him.

When the lightning hits his outstretched palm, he sees Jongin’s eyes widen in shock, mouth calling his name but Kyungsoo does not hear him, the familiar power buzzing in his ears.

 

JONGIN feels the anxiousness from earlier this week envelope him once again, like a wave of water that drowns him with invisible force, pulling him under, under under. He breathes in heavily with effort, as if his lungs are not enough to provide for him anymore. In a way, there is truth to this. How else would he explain his difficulty in breathing, like air clawing out through his nose?

Jongin looks at Kyungsoo on the bed, still sleeping, the steady rise and fall of his chest a comfort to ease Jongin’s worry. He is waiting for the water in the pot to boil, cooking their now traditional meal of ramyun. It would do good for Kyungsoo to sip on hot soup after their impromptu shower in the rain.

Jongin has long stopped questioning things about Kyungsoo, the strange man that fell from the trees with his winter clothes and his open wound that healed quickly, with his strange language and his ability to make Jongin’s heart flutter with just a simple smile or look. Jongin has stopped asking questions in his head and instead, has let himself feel, let himself fall.

And so when Kyungsoo ran outside into the rain, Jongin merely followed out of worry, but somehow, he knew that it was different–with the way Kyungsoo’s eyes were wild with emotion when he turned to Jongin by the window, with the way Kyungsoo ran out with focus, not minding the heavy rain, his steps sure and determined, a path towards the forest set–Jongin felt afraid, an irrational fear that Kyungsoo would disappear in the rain the same way he came with it.

Jongin has lifted his unconscious body from the entrance to the forest, just before the trees start and the clearing ends, the worry in Jongin’s heart spreading through every vein in his body, blood coursing through him icy cold with fear. Jongin carried him up the slope, careful not to slip, steps slow but grounded. He wanted to move faster, get to the cabin faster, but everything seemed to be in slow motion. Jongin could feel that is on borrowed time, Kyungsoo heavy in his arms slipping between his fingers like sand. He gripped Kyungsoo tighter to his chest.

Both of them were dripping wet when they arrived back in the cabin, clothes drenched in summer rain. Jongin had set Kyungsoo on the bed, his eyes fluttering open then close, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jongin had undressed Kyungsoo, much like how he undressed him that first night, ridding him of his wet shirt and pants, and dressing him in dry comfortable clothes. The blush on Jongin’s cheeks was still present, hands shaking as he uncovered more and more of Kyungsoo’s pale skin, but his shyness was overpowered by his need to help Kyungsoo out of his wet clothes, to keep him warm and safe from catching a cold.

Kyungsoo has been sleeping on the bed since then. The sun has set now, the sky outside a deep inky blue, thousands of stars dotting the vast expanse with twinkling silver. Lunch has passed by with Kyungsoo sleeping, Jongin eating bread with jam alone on the table, his appetite for ramyun not present without Kyungsoo to share the pot with. 

Usually, Jongin would spend the afternoons with Kyungsoo outside, arm wound around him as they walk slowly along the clearing, getting Kyungsoo’s legs some exercise. Sometimes, Jongin would tell Kyungsoo stories–of his adventures as a rookie actor, ignored and looked down upon, of starving every day of his life because he refused to contract under influential brokers, offering him work in exchange of favors, of his rise to fame because of a clip of him dancing in an obscure cable variety show going viral, of the drama offers that came after, the movies, the cfs, of the fans that started growing in number, of the tours and the promotions, and the filming and the interviews, of getting tired of it all, but then remembering why he chose this job, a dream he has worked hard for since he was a child. Jongin told Kyungsoo everything, his innermost thoughts, complaints, fears, desires. There’s something comforting about being able to let out everything in the open, to have Kyungsoo listen to him despite Jongin knowing he couldn’t understand. He liked the way Kyungsoo would look at him with rapt attention, like what he’s saying is of utmost important. Jongin is used to being the center of attention, attention he dislikes. People would fake fawn over him to gain favor in his eyes, to be seen and associated with him. Individuals he has only met a second or two, talked to once or twice, would post pictures of them on their sns, claiming them to be the closest of best friends. The public eats it up, thinking Jongin is friends with so many of these stars, reporters and staff he barely knows. The truth is, Jongin only knows a handful, and is friends with fewer. Most of his colleagues he considers acquaintances. 

But Kyungsoo is different. The attention he gives Jongin is genuine, it shows in his eyes and the sweet smile playing on his lips. Kyungsoo looks at him like he’s the center of his universe, and Jongin is okay with that.

The water is boiling now, Jongin dropping the noodles in the bubbling water, when he hears voices outside the door.

Jongin stills all movements, the anxiousness now back once again. He looks at Kyungsoo,stirring awake in their bed. Borrowed time. Somehow, Jongin always knew they were on borrowed time. His strange man who fell from the trees, never his to stay.

He waits.

One two three sharp knocks on his door.

“Who is it?” Jongin asks, caution and hesitation clear in his voice, ears straining to hear how many they were outside.

“Good evening. May we please have a word with you?” The voice is clean and crisp, his Korean clipped and accent foreign. _Like Kyungsoo’s._ , Jongin thinks. His stomach drops, his chest hollows. He looks back at the bed, Kyungsoo is sitting up now, looking at Jongin curiously, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Who is it?” he calls again.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says. Jongin turns to see him standing up, walking towards him in Jongin’s clothes, the sleeves covering his hands, the bottoms folded for his feet. Jongin refuses to let the pang in his chest be more than it is, refuses to let the hollowness spread all over his being. “Jongin?”

“Kyungsoo, some people are outside. I ought to call my manager,” Jongin says his go-to phrase, pre-programmed into his speech, but he knows it is no use. He knows his manager cannot help him keep his heart whole.

“Good evening, sir,” the voice outside says once more. Jongin sees Kyungsoo’s eyes go wide, surprise evident on his face. Kyungsoo recognizes the voice. He knows the people outside. “We would like-”

Kyungsoo rushes to the door, opening it before Jongin can move from his spot by the stove. Too late. 

There are three people outside. Jongin watches as they step inside the cabin, the orange overhead light bathing them in a soft glow. They are dressed in identical suits, fabric of midnight black. Jongin doesn’t know what he was expecting. He was expecting something more flashy, perhaps robes, perhaps metallic foils. Whether it be an alternate dimension, a parallel universe or the outer space, Jongin expected Kyungsoo’s home to be more dramatic and dynamic, like Kyungsoo’s existence in Jongin’s life is. The entrance of these three seemingly normal men was not what he was expecting.

They line up infront of Kyungsoo, who has his back straight and his chin held high at an angle, looking every bit as regal and important as Jongin always imagined him to be, remembering his black clothes from when he found him in the forest, material thick and expensive looking. The first thing they do is kneel down on one knee in front of him, head bowed down to the ground, they murmur in a language Jongin does not understand. 

Jongin thinks it looks a bit silly, Kyungsoo commanding these three men to stand up with the flick of his wrist, all while wearing Jongin’s oversized clothes, the garments hanging off his frame. He would have laughed if not for the solemn expressions on all of their faces, as they talk in hushed voices, volume and foreign tongue preventing him to understand. He settles for a smile instead.

Should he offer them water? Coffee? Tea?

Just as he was about to fetch them glasses, they call his name.

“Mr. Jongin,” it was the voice from before, coming from the man in the middle, his looks clean and sharp. “I’m Ambassador Junmyeon, liaison between Exo and the Earth. With me are Lord of Light Baekhyun and the Kingdom’s Keeper Kale,” he gestures to the two men behind him, both bowing in his direction as Jongin bows his head back. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Jongin takes the extended hand and shakes it, an eyebrow raising at hearing their titles, “Likewise.”

“Our Prince has told us you have taken good care of him,” the ambassador gestures to Kyungsoo, standing to the side with a smile. “However, he tells us you do not speak our language yet, nor he yours. I would like to ask your permission to do the transfer-”

Jongin sees Kyungsoo’s smile disappear in an instant, as he steps in front of the Ambassador, arm halting the other’s movements. The Ambassador immediately steps back, his head bowed in apology. Jongin just looks on, bewildered.

“Er, ask my permission for what?” he asks, just as Kyungsoo reaches his hand to Jongin’s cheek, like he did the very first night they met and the nights after that, the action and warmth from Kyungsoo’s palm never failing to make him smile and blush. But right now, with three other men in the room, the red on Jongin’s cheeks is a shade deeper and darker.“Kyungsoo-?”

Kyungsoo just looks up at him with that warm smile of his, his eyes sincere and clear as they always are, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin it could reach, a perfect reenactment of the first time he met him. And then Kyungsoo closes his eyes, the same time Jongin feels a tingling sensation where Kyungsoo’s palm meets his cheek, spreading to his temple. It feels relaxing, almost hypnotizing. He could feel something tangible passing through his skin.

When Kyungsoo opens his eyes, hand still on Jongin’s cheek, palm as warm as ever, the first thing he says with a grin is, “Hi, Jongin.”

Jongin grins back, “So you were only trying to learn my language that first time, is that it?”

Kyungsoo chuckles, eyes glinting with mischief. He steps closer, thumb still smoothing invisible lines on Jongin’s face. “Maybe,” he teases.

“And here I thought it was because you thought I was beautiful, like your golden brooch,” Jongin smiles down at him, stepping closer too, their chests touching now. Jongin wounds his arms around Kyungsoo, locking him in place. Borrowed time, he reminds himself. He smiles wider, trying his best to push down the anxiousness in his gut.“So Prince, huh? Does that mean I get to be your princess?”

Kyungsoo looks away, a bashful tint to his cheeks, his hand dropping to hold onto Jongin’s biceps, resting his against Jongin’s chest. “Queen, actually. No- King and King. You and me. If you want, of course,” hiding his face, clear embarrassment in his voice.

Jongin wants to say yes. He really does.

“I have a life here, Soo. A job I can’t just leave. I have scenes to film next week, a movie to promote in a month…” Jongin feels his borrowed time slipping faster than he can catch the strands.

Kyungsoo lifts his head and looks up at him, eyes as clear as ever, “Is that a no?”

“It’s a maybe.”

Kyungsoo nods, stepping away. Jongin is already regretting his decision. Can he take it back? But his dream and his life is here. Kyungsoo, however-

“I guess that leaves me with no choice.” Kyungsoo sighs deeply as he commands, “Please kneel down on one knee, Jongin.”

“Prince Do!” the Ambassador stumbles forward, breaking his silence. The three men has been quiet all these time, head bowed in their corner of the cabin, showing respect to their Prince and his privacy. For the Ambassador to speak up so indignantly, Kyungsoo’s request must be one he strongly objects to. Jongin looks to see the other two men are looking at them with wide eyes too. This night is also full of surprises, it seems. “You cannot! Your ability will be invaluable to you as King!”

“Are you questioning my decision, Lord Junmyeon?” Kyungsoo says with finality, his voice firm and sure, leaving no room for arguments. Power and authority comes naturally to him, Jongin realizes, seeing his hard gaze piercing through Lord Junmyeon. Jongin feels a surge of pride coming over him. Kyungsoo will be a great King. 

“No, Your Highness,” the Ambassador says with a bow.

“Very well,” he turns his eyes to Jongin, gaze softening. “Jongin, down on one knee, please.”

This time, no one objects, but Jongin saw Lord Junmyeon’s hands curl into tight fists. Jongin needs to watch out for that man. 

He kneels as he is told.

“Are you not to curious of what I am about to do?” Kyungsoo asks above him, voice gentle and sweet. “Jongin, are you not going to ask?”

Jongin is curious, yes, but this is Kyungsoo, his strange man who he has stopped questioning since long ago. If Kyungsoo said he has no choice but this after Jongin said to leave the Earth with him as his King, then Jongin is sure it is a choice that will benefit them both, a wise choice, a King’s choice.

So Jongin looks up at Kyungsoo and shakes his head, “No, Kyungsoo. I trust you.”

Kyungsoo looks stunned for a moment, a parade of emotion on his face. Jongin sees tenderness in his eyes and as he blinks the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, as he laughs lightly, breathlessly. “This is why I can’t bear not seeing you again. Because you accept me like no one else can.” He reaches down to cup Jongin’s cheek for the second time tonight, a smile so radiant on his face as he leans down, closer and closer still. Jongin isn’t breathing when Kyungsoo’s soft lips touch his own in a chaste kiss, his heartbeat stuttering in his chest, his cheeks aflame. “I’m glad you found me, Jongin. Now you can keep finding me again and again.”

When Kyungsoo straightens, he lays his palm on top of Jongin’s head, and says, “I Pass thee unto you, Teleportation.”

 

_**epilogue** _  
**El Dorado; Summer 40BX**

Jongin is late. 

Kyungsoo looks to the sky, impatiently tapping his foot on the marbled floor. The Council meeting is in a few minutes, the Light is almost up. Lord of Light Baekhyun has finally woken up, it seems. And yet, Jongin still nowhere to be seen. 

When he hears a _whish_ and a _crash_ outside his chambers, Kyungsoo rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god, Soo! I am so sorry I’m late!” _Crash_ “Agh fuck! I thought you said you’d stop putting this goddamn coat of arms here!”

Kyungsoo can’t help but chuckle as he steps out, the King’s crown in his hand. 

“And why are you late?”

“A taxi full of those crazy bitches was following my van, as always. I couldn’t just teleport from my van! My manager would freak out. You know how much he hates it when I do it where he can see.”

Kyungsoo sighs and steps closer, putting the heavy crown on his head. “C’mere, your robe is untied.”

Jongin stops rubbing the toe of his left foot, and straightens, walking towards his King. “Why are you smiling? Are you happy because of my pain?”

Kyungsoo shakes his head, looping the sash around Jongin’s neck into a tie, fingers familiar with the motions. “Just thinking how I was right.”

“About what?”

“How good you’d look in Council robes.”

“You always tell me I look good in anything.”

“And without anything.”

“Kyungsoo!”

Kyungsoo chuckles as he pats Jongin’s chest, the tie done, knot in place. He knows Jongin never bothers to learn how to do it properly because Kyungsoo likes doing it for him. He is not wrong.

“Come on, the Council is waiting, Lord Jongin.”

Jongin grins, “After you, King Do.”

As they walk the halls hand in hand, outside the castle, miles and miles of mithrims and adaleids, weirls and gribours are being under the shower of the summer rain.


End file.
